


The Nutcrackers

by Misdemeanor1331



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misdemeanor1331/pseuds/Misdemeanor1331
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is determined to finish her holiday shopping early, but Draco is a tough nut to crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nutcrackers

**Author's Note:**

> A big, “Thank you!” and a warm cup of cocoa with marshmallows to my beta, dormiensa, for the corrections and comments! My prompt for this fest was _nutcracker_.

****

The Nutcrackers

**I.**

_Four weeks until Christmas_

“I can get used to this.” 

Harry Potter glanced to the couch, where Ron Weasley relaxed with his hands laced behind his head. The couch was large enough for Harry and one other person lying down, so long as that person had red hair and was his wife. Predictably, Ron’s legs hung at least six inches over the sofa’s arm. His feet were perilously close to knocking over the lamp. 

Harry agreed; being Head Auror certainly had its perks. He looked out his office windows, which were soundproof, hex-proof, and currently charmed to be one-way, allowing him to see out while maintaining his privacy. 

The office was abuzz with activity. His team was in the far corner, poring over encoded messages they had intercepted from Italy over the weekend. Half of Ron’s team was in St. Mungo’s being treated for nasty burns given to them by a Dark artifact. The other half was trying to cajole the Department of Mysteries’ Secret Keepers into releasing information regarding said artifact. Malfoy’s team... He wasn’t sure where they were. Fetching him breakfast was a likely possibility. 

The sound of heels against tile cut through the routine office din, and Harry did not have to see Hermione Granger marching across the office to know it was her. Only she had footsteps he could describe as _efficient_. 

Ron saw her, too, and worked to sit up until she veered left instead of right, toward Malfoy’s office instead of Harry’s. He heaved a sigh and slumped back down. 

“How long do you think she’ll keep at it?” he asked, craning his head back to send Harry a speculative look. “Over or under two weeks?” 

“Over.” The door cracked open, and Hermione leaned forward. He smiled and repeated, “Definitely over.” 

“He doesn’t deserve it,” Ron said after a beat of silence. 

Harry glanced at him. “The promotion?” 

“Nah, it was about time. Just glad we got them first. He doesn’t deserve her.” 

“Bitter?” Harry asked with a pair of raised eyebrows. 

Ron scoffed. “Unlikely. Just don’t like the bloke.” 

“He’s saved your life more than once.” 

“Likewise, and mum saw to it that he was properly thanked. Doesn’t mean I want him to be happy.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, considering it’s Hermione, you may get your wish.” 

“Draco miserable, rejected by the woman he fancies… That’d be a fine Christmas gift.” 

“Better than Cannons tickets?” 

Another beat of silence. “Well, it’d be a fine second choice.” 

**II.**

_Three weeks until Christmas_

“Granger. What a surprise.” 

Draco Malfoy’s less-than-enthusiastic greeting did nothing to dampen her own. 

“Good morning, Malfoy.” 

She plunked herself down in a chair across from his desk without waiting for an invitation. “Rather blustery today, isn’t it? Hope you’ve brought your scarf.” 

“Yes, I have a scarf. As well as earmuffs, flying gloves, several pairs of thick wool socks, and a damn Weasley jumper. For the love of Merlin, do not knit me anything.” 

Very well, so something _could_ dampen her spirits. 

“Am I that transparent?” 

“As Trelawney’s crystal balls.” 

“Interested in Divination, are you?” 

“ _No_ ,” he answered flatly. 

She groaned and leaned back against the chair. “You’re not exactly making this easy on me,” she griped. “All I want to do is finish my Christmas shopping early. You’re the last person on my list, and you’ve given me _nothing_.” 

“Because it’s practically still November. Christmas is ages away.” 

“It’s thoroughly December. You just haven’t changed your calendar over. Speaking of…” She raised her eyebrows hopefully and was shut down by Draco’s annoyed look. She settled into a dignified pout. “Christmas will be here before you know, and I refuse to put off my shopping. This is going to be a stress-free holiday for a change.” 

“Your holidays are only stressful because you overcommit,” he pointed out. 

“I do not! I plan Christmas with my parents and with the Weasleys –” 

“Set up the holiday party for your department and ours –” 

“No one else ever volunteers!” 

“And craft homemade presents for whatever elves will accept them.” 

“Just Dobby, at the moment, though I think I’ve almost convinced Kreacher. And those are all things I want to do.” 

“That doesn’t mean you should do them all.” 

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing I’m not going to do.” – Draco looked at her expectantly. – “Give up. You _will_ tell me what you want for Christmas, Draco. I’ll make sure of it. How’s your quill?” 

“Fully functional,” he quipped, “and its replacement would cost more than you could afford.” 

She gave a harrumph of annoyance and turned away from him. She tried – and failed – to ignore his chuckle as she walked away. 

**III.**

_Two weeks until Christmas_

Hermione fully expected to be the only one attending the non-denominational holiday party-planning meeting and, as such, arrived ten minutes late. She nearly dropped her clipboard when she saw Draco and his two browbeaten recruits settled around a table loaded with colored napkins, festive hats, a few bottles of wine, and an impressive chocolate selection. 

“We wondered if you were ever going to show,” Draco said with a grin. “Pumpkin ganache?” 

Hermione closed her gaping mouth and took the offered truffle and a seat. “What are you all doing here?” 

“Planning a party,” said Draco blithely. 

She frowned. “Well, obviously, but… _why_?” 

“Auror Malfoy said that we had to help so that he could properly w–”

“Not another word, Wilmeys, or I’ll have you count the mould colonies in the women’s loo.” 

Though ludicrous, the expression on Draco’s face made it clear that he was not joking. Explanation thus neutralized, Draco turned toward Hermione and smiled tightly. 

“It reflects poorly upon a department to participate in an activity they had no part in planning, does it not?” 

She narrowed her eyes. “Sure…” 

“And Wilmeys and Wannerstorm –” 

“Larderstrom.” 

Draco waved away the correction. “ – need to get into the spirit of things.” He shot a look at the recruits; Wilmeys popped another truffle, and Wannerstorm/Larderstrom averted his eyes and polished off his wine. 

“We can take it from here.” 

He finished with another tense smile that Hermione was tempted to believe. Still… 

She looked at the recruits. “May we have a moment?” 

They looked back to Draco, who nodded. “Don’t go far. We still have to decide on colors.” 

They shut the door, and Hermione rounded on him. “What are you doing?” 

“Haven’t we been over this?” 

“This is ridiculous. You don’t want to plan a party.” 

“If I didn’t want to, then I wouldn’t.” 

“Okay, so why _do_ you want to?” 

“Torturing my recruits isn’t reason enough?” 

Hermione paused; for him, it probably was. She gave in with a sigh. “Thank you, Draco.” 

His smile changed, looking far more natural. “You’re welcome.” 

“What would you like for Christmas?” 

“World peace.” 

She breathed a laugh and picked up her clipboard. “I’m sure you do.” 

Draco stood when she did and met her at the door. “What about dinner?” 

“That’s certainly more attainable.” 

“My treat.” 

“I don’t believe it counts as a gift, in that case.” 

“I’ll pick you up at eight?” 

She sighed. “Won’t work. Some anti-creature legislation landed on my desk, and I need to take care of it immediately. Apparently, a population of merpeople celebrate the Solstice in a manner too festive for a small Welsh community.” 

His tight smile returned. “If anyone tried to steal Christmas, it would be the Welsh.” 

She laughed again and shook her head. “Keep thinking on that gift idea, and let me know if you need me,” she said on her way out. She left the door open behind her, and Draco watched her go. Once she was out of sight, he allowed himself to sag. Let her know if he needed her? Merlin, he thought he had. 

**IV.**

_One week until Christmas_

Even with Hermione’s minimal involvement and the half-hearted participation of Wilmeys and Wannerstorm/Larderstrom, the Auror Office Non-Denominational Holiday Event seemed to be a success. Guests ate and drank, several laughed, and a few even danced, though only quiet jazz had been provided. 

He smiled as he caught Potter’s eye and smiled less when he caught Weasley’s. Funny, though: he didn’t see Hermione. He knew she was invited – he had sent that particular memo himself – and he couldn’t believe she wouldn’t show. 

And he was right. Her voice came from over his right shoulder. 

“Great party.” 

He turned to her with a smile. She wore an appropriately festive set of dark green robes, and her hair was down, falling about her shoulders in shining curls. 

“It’s not bad,” he said, trying to stay humble. “People seem to be enjoying themselves.” 

“And you? You’re enjoying yourself?” 

His grin widened, and he took a risk, helped along by a touch of liquid courage. “Tremendously, now that you’re here.” 

Hermione’s brow furrowed. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again to finish her drink. She set her glass down on a nearby table and turned to him with her arms crossed in front of her chest. 

“You’re a tough nut to crack, Draco Malfoy, but I think I’ve done it.” 

He arched a brow. 

“You fancy me,” she said. 

That she stated it so plainly surprised him, but he was not about to give that away. 

He took a sip of his drink and affected a too-curious look. “Do I?” 

Hermione set her chin, and Draco felt a warmth that had nothing to do with his spiked cocoa surge through his chest. He loved that look on her. 

“ _Yes_.” 

“What was your first clue?” 

“There were socks on my desk.” 

“Flowers are out of season, and chocolates seemed trite.” 

“They weren’t for me.” 

Draco paused, as if stretching his memory, though of course he remembered just fine. The family elf was more than happy to knit the socks for Draco, even though the yarn color was the most noxious yellow either of them had ever seen. 

“Oh, that’s right. Rather garish, weren’t they?” 

“Dobby loved them.” 

Draco nodded once. “I’m glad. Poor elf deserves them for having put up with my father for all those years.” 

Hermione took a step closer; he took a sip of spiked cocoa. 

“One pair of socks does not a relationship make,” he teased. “I’d have done more for the woman I fancy.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re really going to make me work for this, aren’t you?” 

“What’s that they say regarding turnabout?” 

A grin tugged at her lips, softening her annoyance, and Draco’s stomach dropped in anticipation. She took another step toward him. “You planned all of this,” she said, gesturing around her. Her voice dropped an octave. “I know you didn’t want to, but you did anyway, because you listened when I said I wanted a stress-free holiday.” 

He dipped his head down to hers. “And did I deliver?” 

She smiled. “Not quite yet. I still don’t know what you want for Christmas.” 

He smiled back. Their lips were nearly touching. 

“You’re really going to make me work for this, aren’t you?” he echoed. 

“Turnabout.” 

Hermione’s breathy voice was all the motivation he needed to close the distance between them and take the only gift he wanted from her and the only one he would accept: her heart. 

**V.**

_Christmas_

Harry sat at the Weasleys’ long trestle table, jammed between Ginny and Ron. He was absolutely stuffed with the Christmas meal Mrs. Weasley had cooked for them, but when she brought out treacle tart, trifle, and a large bowl of pecans with a nutcracker that had seen better days, Harry grabbed his fork. 

From across the table, Malfoy groaned quietly and put his left hand over his stomach. His right held Hermione’s hand and had done so for most of the evening. He’d needed the support. Most of the Weasleys hadn’t exactly been hospitable when Hermione arrived with her date, and even Harry had been caught off-guard by it. Mrs. Weasley kept Ron and George in line, for the most part, and a quick look from Ginny reminded Harry of his manners. Still, it had not been a perfect evening. 

“Problem, fe –” A loud clatter interrupted Ron’s question. A scathing look from his mother helped to clean up his language. “ _Friend_?” 

“I don’t think I could eat another bite.” 

“You’ll want to,” Ginny said. “Mum’s famous for her trifle.” 

Harry grinned at the double entendre, but Malfoy – to his credit – maintained a straight face. “A small slice, then.” 

“And maybe a few nuts?” 

Hermione passed him the bowl and the nutcracker, and Harry felt a moment of astonishment as he recognized the look that passed between them. He shared the same one with Ginny when they laughed over a private joke. He sat back against his chair, ignoring the treacle Ron held out to him. 

Hermione was happy. Blissful, even, and the sight made him giddy. She had been a bit conservative with her love life recently, hesitant to believe that a man’s interest in her could be more than casual. And Malfoy, of all people, had managed to convince her otherwise. 

Harry smiled. If Malfoy could crack her shell, then maybe – just maybe – he could crack the rest of them, too.


End file.
